A Case of the Jitters
by falsecaterpillar
Summary: During the time between "No Way Out" and "The Next World", Rick and Glenn go out on a supply run. Each one of them is suffering from a case of the jitters - but for different reasons. Mentions of Rick/Michonne and Glenn/Maggie.


**Author's Note:** I wrote this as a gap-filler fic. It takes place between "No Way Out" (6.09) and "The Next World (6.10). It could also be seen as an alternative take on "The Next World", but featuring Glenn as opposed to Daryl (without Jesus though). Since, I've always loved Rick and Glenn's friendship, and I am sad to see it hasn't been highlighted as much in recent seasons, I thought I would write something to correct it.

* * *

Glenn hadn't said a word since they left Alexandria. Not even to protest the obnoxious oldies Rick insisted on playing. Staring out the passenger window, silent, with his head propped with his hand, he'd been the uncharacteristic picture of apathy for the past hour.

When Glenn didn't say a word about the explicit graffiti of Donald Duck in flagrante delicto, Rick decided enough was enough.

"Everything alright?" Rick said, dialing down the stereo volume.

Glenn sat up, stirred from his stupor. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's fine."

Rick frowned. A good hour of silence should never be met with such a canned response. Let alone one that was an obvious lie.

Glenn must've seen the look on Rick's face, because he sighed in a long way, like he'd slipped something heavy off his shoulders, and continued talking. "I—I keep thinking and... I'm just worried."

It took a lot to dent Glenn's plucky optimism, and Rick felt his gut work into a knot. Fear, like so many things, could be infectious.

"Anything I can help with?" Rick asked, hoping this was an issue that could be resolved with a few simple to-do items. Like picking up more Tylenol from a pharmacy or rain-proofing some walls. Rick knew he wasn't the best with the psychological things, having wrestled with his own paranoia and anxiety for years. If anything, by just talking to Glenn, he'd make it worse.

Glenn didn't seem to notice Rick's unease. His eyes were focused somewhere between his hands and the floor of the car. "When you found out Lor—when you found out you were going to have a kid. Did... did you freak out? Like did you start crawling the walls?"

Rick couldn't help but smile. So that was it.

Glenn had a simple case of the new dad jitters.

"Why?" Rick said. "You crawling the walls?"

"I haven't slept," Glenn said. "It's like my brain just won't stop thinking. About _everything_. Will our kid have food? What if Maggie gets sick? Or—what if something happens to me?" Glenn sagged, leaning his head against the seat belt. "There's no guarantees anymore."

Rick tilted his head. Glenn was right. At times, the future did feel like some kind of monster they had to hack at just to budge an inch. Sometimes it was all Rick could do to shut out the voices in his head telling him to just lie down and let fate wash over him.

"There's never been any guarantees," Rick said, but it was going to take more than a few vague words of wisdom to help. "When I found out Lori was pregnant with Carl, I lost my mind. It's like the world got heavier—all at once. And that was when we had things like health insurance."

"I'll have to kill people," Glenn said, his voice strained. "My _kid_ will have to. And I can't—I don't know if I can do it."

A part of Rick wondered if Glenn was thinking about all the things Rick had to do to keep Carl and Judith alive. If Glenn looked at Rick as some sort of example to live by. The thought bogged Rick's heart down with guilt—and disgust. No one should try to walk in his shoes. No one should have to do the things he has done—let alone worry if they could.

But what determined good parenting in this world? Gone were Dr. Spock help books telling parents the perfect temperature for a baby's milk, or agencies keeping tabs on the safety hazards of the latest toy parts. Now there was fear of not being able to stab a man in the heart—or bite out a throat—to be earn a gold star in child-rearing.

Rick could only hope with Alexandria growing stronger by the day, that fear would die out along with all the threats they had banging at their doors.

"Listen," Rick said. "This isn't going to be forever. Civilization? Is right around the corner."

Truth was, the world needed men like Glenn. Men who valued life, imparted thoughts and mercy as opposed to bullets and death. Men without blood under their fingernails, who weren't just biding their time until they had to kill again.

Rick swallowed. "You're a good man." The ' _unlike me_ ' went unspoken.

Glenn sat in the silence for moment, lost in thought, before saying, "What if civilization doesn't come soon enough?" He paused. "What if all we've built comes falling down?"

"If that happens…" Rick trailed off for a moment, not wanting to entertain thoughts of just how dark their world could get. He pressed on. "Glenn, you're the most selfless man I know, and if there's one thing about being a parent? It's knowing you'll give anything for your children. _Anything_. You almost gave your life for a dumbass in a tank." The memory of Glenn's voice cracking over the radio brought a lump to Rick's throat. He truly would've been a dead man had Glenn a hard-heart in his chest. "If you can do that? Imagine what you'll do for your kid. I know I'd hate to be the one to rile Papa Bear Glenn."

A brief, closed-lip smile flitted across Glenn's face. "Thanks, Rick," he said, sounding genuinely grateful, but the downward cast of his shoulders gave Rick the impression his words didn't dispel all of Glenn's doubts.

"You'll be fine," Rick said in one last ditch effort to help, praying the rest of the car ride wouldn't be a pall of silence. "I wouldn't worry about anything except how you're going to tell Maggie we didn't get any Rocky Road."

* * *

Rick pulled over to a small shop on the side of the road. It was one of the few places they hadn't hit within the radius, and if good luck was on their side, there'd be something worth taking within its walls.

Rick and Glenn didn't even have to tell each other what to do. They entered the door in sync, maneuvering through the turned over aisles with their weapons drawn and flashlights beaming ahead. If they could help it, they wouldn't fire any shots. They didn't need loud noises luring walkers out of their hiding places.

After the shop was cleared, both started shifting through the leftover debris—and maybe this wasn't going to be a beneficial trip. The place was filled with kitschy Americana—wooden figures, skulls, keychains with names on them. The refrigerators in the back were caked in mold, so any food left inside was an early casualty of the apocalypse.

"I'll check the back," Rick said with a sigh, making his way up to the back office while Glenn scoured the shelves. "Maybe someone left a fancy letter opener or something."

The door was bolted shut, but a few good kicks sent it inward. Rick flashed his light around the room—seeing nothing but a desk and a poster of a mountain. Junk littered the top of the desk—a pair of scissors, memo paper, a tape dispenser. Not even a letter opener.

"Dammit," Rick said under his breath, swiping some sweat from his brow.

Then he noticed the locked chest under the desk. It was probably filled with tax documents someone thought might be useful for an audit one day. Maybe something impractical like paper bills. Still, Rick hunkered down, fiddling with the lock with his pocket knife to pry it open.

"Is there something going on between you and Michonne?"

Rick came up fast, knocking his head on lip of the desk. "What?" he choked out, wincing at the ache splitting his scalp. He looked over his shoulder at Glenn standing in the doorway. As Glenn's words sunk in, dread wormed into Rick's heart.

 _Is there something going on between you and Michonne._

Had Michonne aired some grievances with Glenn? Was she upset? Things had been a little tense between them since Carl lost his eye, but he figured it was just the stress of everything that had happened. Not that the stress was even that noticeable, mostly Rick just felt it like a hum under his skin. The same kind of disquiet of walking on eggshells. Michonne didn't seem angry, or frustrated, but maybe he wasn't as good at reading her as he thought—

"Word of advice?" Glenn said, interrupting Rick's mounting panic. "Do something about it. It's scary, I know, but you love her, so the worst has already happened."

All Rick could do was continue to take in air. He didn't know how to process what he'd just heard—or how he should feel about it. Confusion because it was all a lie, but maybe it was the truth. Anger because he'd been accused of some wrongdoing, but loving Michonne wasn't wrong in the slightest.

Or embarrassment—because maybe Glenn was better at pinpointing Rick's own feelings than he was.

Every time Rick was around Michonne, his chest fluttered like it housed a hundred butterflies trying to get out. His skin grew so hot sometimes, it felt like it was shrinking under the beams of a sun lamp. It'd been happening since he knew her, but more often and for longer periods now.

At first, Rick chalked up the unusual feelings as a simple case of nerves. After all, Michonne had been a stranger, so maybe the tension came natural with distrust. But that wasn't it. If he hadn't trusted her, he wouldn't have let her take the wheel on the trip to King County—let alone give her watch over Carl.

So maybe what he'd been feeling was the warm glow of appreciation for all she'd done for him and Carl, but he felt appreciative of everyone in the group—and none of them made him want to crawl out of his skin in their company.

Sometimes he thought maybe it was just lust—and he wasn't proud to admit it. It had been so long since he'd felt the touch of a woman—and Michonne? Was a hell of a woman. He could hardly help how his gaze sometimes lingered on her ass, thighs, breasts, and eyes. In the most heated moments, he'd shamefully entertain fantasies of what she'd look like without all those layers of clothing. But he wanted to safeguard his friendship with her more than he wanted to sate any sort of carnal desire.

Rick even considered the weird tension in his veins was high-blood pressure. He'd been under a lot of stress. But then that didn't explain why his heart only got sick when Michonne drifted into his orbit.

Not knowing what it was, Rick had ignored there was something going on.

But now with Glenn standing there, making inquiries, it was painfully difficult to avoid the fact there _was_ something going on. Glenn, with all his infinite wisdom, was under the impression it was love. It was true, Rick loved Michonne—just as he loved all his friends. He cared about her. Maybe too much.

He was hyper-aware of her state of being at all times. When she wasn't smiling, everything grew heavier. When she was angry, Rick swore thunderclouds were gathering. When she wasn't around, the world had less direction. Since her moods seemed to affect the whole of his reality, he saw fit to temper them in what ways could. He wanted— _needed_ —her happy. Only then could everyone be happy.

None of his other friends were the center of the universe.

Rick shook his head. "Yeah," he said under his breath. Not that he agreed, although maybe he did, but he didn't have time to figure which case it was.

Rick finished with the chest. Taking a look inside, he said, "Well, it ain't Rocky Road, but…"

He angled himself to the side so Glenn could take a look. It was military-grade survival equipment. Why it was here, he couldn't wager a guess, but maybe the owner at one point held belief there'd be some sort of incursion of the dead or a second Cold War.

"Guess the trip was worth it after all," said Glenn with a smile.

* * *

They drove back with their haul in relative silence. Rick wondered whether he should turn up the music again, but kept it low in case Glenn decided to unload any other concerns. Maybe Glenn would offer more advice about how to handle Michonne. Rick's head was still spinning, glutted with questions.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Rick couldn't help but start to fret about it all again. About the peculiar feeling he got around Michonne, about Glenn identifying it as love, about what he should do about it. Just as Rick opened his mouth to shower Glenn with questions, Glenn spoke up.

"If anything ever happens to me, promise you'll look after Maggie," he said, passing a serious look Rick's way before putting his eyes back on the road. "I know she can take care of herself, but... please. And don't tell me nothing is going to happen. I've had enough close calls to know better."

While the request struck Rick dumb, it wasn't a lie. Glenn had stood before the face of death more times than was comfortable. Herds of walkers, getting tied to a chair and beaten by a maniac, a run with Nicholas. But each time, against all odds, he survived. It was as though fortune has shined on Glenn's head, granting him the spirit to cling to life with the most stubborn grip. Rick recalled standing beside Maggie, watching those green balloons sail into the sky.

"You know, I should be the one asking you that," Rick said with a smile. "With your luck, you'll be the last man standing." And Rick needed that to be true. He couldn't fathom outliving such a wonderful man.

Glenn laughed—but the laughter turned into a gasp. "Look out!" he cried out.

Rick was already slamming the breaks. Up ahead, walkers spilled into the street from the treeline. Not enough to swallow them whole, but enough to make the road a writhing obstacle course. The sour smell of rotten flesh came soon after, bleeding through the car's dashboard. Rick and Glenn looked at each other for wordless reassurance as more and more stumbled forth.

"Where'd they come from?" Glenn said, sounding breathless.

"I don't know."

"Can we drive through them?"

Rick adjusted his hands on the steering wheel. "We'll find out."

It was reckless, probably stupid, but Rick floored the pedal, plowing the car right into the mob of corpses. The front headlights clipped several of them, twirling them around. A couple dented the fender, flipping over the hood into the air. Each collision sounded of crunching bone and blood squelching.

The Chrysler safety inspectors probably didn't have this car's ability to withstand hitting a tide of human bodies in mind when they tested it fresh off the assembly line. After one more walker rolled over the hood of the car, cracking the windshield, the motor shuddered with a horrible screech.

"I think it's dying," Glenn said, stating the obvious as the car's rattling worsened.

"Yeah," Rick said, uselessly pumping on the gas pedal as the car started to slow against his will. "We're going to have to make a run for it."

Glenn nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and unholstering his pistol. The majority of the walkers were a bit behind them now, mostly chunks of splintered limbs and torso where the car had barreled through them, but they were catching up quick with them now rolling at a crawl. And they were still surrounded by a roaming, hungry gaggle. Some were already slapping at the glass, snarling.

It'd be a miracle if they both made it out of this. But, if one of them stayed behind—

Rick pulled out his Colt Python, thumbing the hammer back. "I'll stay and keep their attention. You? Run as fast as you can. Don't stop."

Glenn blinked at him. "What? I'm not leaving you here."

While Glenn's sunny-side optimism was usually a wanted distraction, in cases like these, it was poisonous. Rick favored Glenn with a glare, hoping it would intimidate him into taking the parachute. Glenn had a kid on the way—and Rick was going to be damned if Glenn didn't get to be a father.

"Your chances are better if their eyes are on me—" Rick started, but Glenn cut him off.

"You said I'd be the last man standing." Glenn frowned. "We go together. Or not at all." The ultimatum was spoken—and with Glenn? There was no backing down.

Glenn looked around through the car windows, shrugging his shoulders, as though saying, _I've had worse._ It was flippant and immature, but it made Rick laugh—more out of frustration than humor, but it was welcome all the same.

"Alright," Rick said, sliding his hand onto the door handle. Glenn did the same on his side. After a shared look between them, one of the quick kinds to silently communicate a lot of thoughts at once like _good luck, we can do this, we're crazy,_ Rick threw open his door, taking two walkers down with it. "Now!"

Rick blasted two walkers straight through their heads, clearing enough space so he could move. Weaving through bodies, flinching away from clawing limbs, Rick found space enough he could stretch his legs into a healthy sprint.

When he was at least a couple breaths away from the thick clump of walkers, he stopped to look over his shoulder for Glenn.

He didn't see him.

"Shit," Rick said under his breath, his blood running cold.

The walkers were crowded to one-side of the car. Maybe they were pawing through Glenn's guts already. Maybe Glenn was still trapped inside. Clenching his jaw, Rick dashed back toward the sedan, lifting his Colt Python—

Fingers hooked into his shirt collar from behind, yanking him backward. Rick choked as a walker's rotten arm curled around his neck. Spit hissed at his cheek, teeth grazed his ear.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. Bitten on the ear by a walker that had snuck up on him like some damn ninja.

He never got to tell Michonne he loved her.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to pierce through his face, but it never came. The walker gurgled and thudded to the ground. Rick spun around to see Glenn holding his pistol by the barrel, the butt of it covered in blood.

"What are you doing?" Glenn said, grabbing Rick by the arm. "Let's go!"

Rick blinked, shocked to see Glenn standing there, in one piece, but he didn't ask any questions. He ran in Glenn's wake, checking over his shoulder every couple seconds in case another walker managed to stealth-up behind him.

* * *

Once they were clear enough for a few minutes from any sight of walkers on their tail, Glenn asked, "What were you doing, man? Trying to go back for the supplies?"

Glenn's voice cracked. Maybe from the adrenaline curving off, maybe from physical exhaustion. Rick didn't want to think it was due to tears.

"I didn't see you," Rick said, swallowing back the phantom panic that had risen in his throat. "I had to make sure."

"If I wasn't going to make it, I wasn't going to make it," Glenn said. "No use saving a dead guy."

"I didn't know if you were dead. How—how did you get so far ahead of me?"

"I'm quick, remember?"

That had been the pitch back so long ago in downtown Atlanta. Glenn was fast on his feet. Rick sighed, bowing his head, feeling foolish. "Thanks. That walker almost had me."

"Scared the crap out of me," Glenn said, shaking his head. "I wasn't expecting to see you trying to run back into danger. I thought—I thought you were trying to sacrifice yourself or something."

Glenn looked distraught over the possibility—and, given their earlier talk in the car, it made sense he was concerned. Rick had been willing to fall on the sword, give Glenn a fighting chance.

"You shouldn't be so ready to throw your life away," Glenn said, his voice thinning with anger. "You have kids who need you. People who care about you."

A pang hit Rick in the chest as Carl and Judith flooded into his mind. He'd get to see them again. Hold them again. For a moment back there, in the cold grip of that walker, he was afraid he wouldn't get to do anything again, let alone something so profoundly warm.

Another thought had struck him in that fleeting second before death's door. Regret.

"I thought about Michonne."

"What?" Glenn said.

"When I thought I was going to die," Rick said, taking a deep breath. "I thought about Michonne."

They stopped talking for a while, each lost in their own thoughts to the sound of their shoe soles scraping asphalt, for which Rick was glad.

He didn't want to tell Glenn maybe he was right about the worst having happened.

"So," Glenn said, finally breaking the silence after a solid hour had passed. "How are we going to get back?"

Not a few moment later, they saw the curve of a road branching off up ahead. Their eyes fell upon a bright red Dodge Challenger, parked cockeyed on the street like its ass was just waiting to be seen.

Rick laughed, unable to believe it. All that time ago, back in Atlanta, that crimson speed demon was their ticket out of dire straits. It's like it had returned to them in their moment of need.

"Still know how to hotwire a car?" Glenn said.

"We don't have to keep the alarm on this time," Rick said.

Glenn flashed a smile back at Rick. "As long as we don't have to listen to your music on the way back."


End file.
